Collide
by beautyinpain
Summary: What happens when a Winchester takes off to go hunt the supernatural in England? When she meets the Holmes' what is going to happen? Mycroft/OC. You don't need to watch Supernatural in order to understand. First in a series of one-shots.


A/N: A crossover between Supernatural and Sherlock, but not needed to watch Supernatural. Not really a crossover either. Please read and enjoy.

I was born to parents Mary and John Winchester. I was born a year and three months after my big brother Dean. Then a little over two years later we welcomed the youngest Winchester to the family – Sam.

Six months later Mom was killed in a tragic nursery fire. It would be another eight years before I would learn the truth. The truth behind Mom's death and our father's frequent, unexplained absences. Dean became more of a father to Sam and I, as he was constantly around.

Dad trained us from the time we turned five years of age. We were pushed to build our strength from exercises like running, push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and fighting techniques. When I turned ten, Dad allowed me to learn how to properly shoot a gun.

I accompanied Dad and Dean on several cases when I turned fifteen, much to the displeasure of my younger brother Sam. Sam left for college when I was twenty years old, about to turn twenty-one. Dad and Sam had a huge fight, in which ended with Sammy walking out the door promising never to come back again.

It would be another four years before Dean and I would be reunited with our brother, who was attempting to achieve his dream of finishing his law degree. Dean and I broke into his apartment where he was staying with his girlfriend named Jessica. We dragged him off to find Dad, taking down a lady in white.

When we got back and dropped Sam back off, Dean and I immediately noticed something was wrong and went back to collect Sam. The demon that killed Mom had struck again, this time going after Sam's girlfriend. We couldn't find a trail so we left.

I trailed around after my brothers for three years. Then Dean made a deal with a crossroads demon to get Sam back. Dean's time was up a year later. Sam and I split up, him going his own way with Ruby and I went to Bobby's initially.

"Lia!" Bobby yelled at me one morning when I awoke, hungover. I startled and a bottle crashed close to my feet.

"What is it Bobby?" I blinked, trying to block the sun with my hands. He snorted.

"I have a case for you." Bobby replied.

"I'm not doing anymore." I frowned up at him, squinting. He just shook his head.

"This isn't what Dean would want for you." Bobby said. I had to blink against the sudden tears. That had been a low blow, even for Bobby to use against me. "Anyway, Garth called. Told me about a friend of his in England who thinks that he might be dealing with some demonic possessions. I told Gar that I could find someone."

"Good. Go find someone." I said, returning my head to the desk.

"I have. Get up." Bobby walked around the table and heaved me to my feet. "Go get a shower. I've got your things packed. Plane leaves in six hours." With that Bobby left me on my own directly in front of the stairs.

By the time that I had a shower, brushed my hair, and teeth I was mostly sober. I thundered down the stairs and met Bobby in the kitchen where he placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. I ate and then left for the airport.

I made my way through security. Which was amazing. I would have thought that my face would have made the watch list, but I suppose not. Sitting in my seat I looked down at my passport and saw that I was now Rose deYoung. I had to snort. Good old Bobby keeping my brother's tradition continuing.

I made my way out of London Heathrow and found a cabby. I contacted Garrett who got me situated in a motel in a sleazy part of town. At least I was used to it by now, though clearly out of my area. At least the one good thing about being a Winchester, you knew how to talk your way into and out of situations. I set up the police scanner and listened all night for any sign of a new murder, but I ended up falling asleep at about six in the morning.

I awoke to my phone ringing. Annoyed, I snatched it quickly from the nightstand and answered it. A thick English accent filled my ear.

" 'Ello luv."

"Who the hell is this?" I rolled out of bed, still fully clothed. I quickly slipped on my boots.

"I'm Garth's friend. Ya know, the one that need the 'elp?"

"Ok?" I slid my jacket on and slipped my gun into the back of my jeans.

"I'm Ray luv," he sounded so cheerful; so unlike the other hunters I've encountered.

"Don't call me luv!" I snapped back at him, annoyed that my sleep was disturbed. He merely chuckled.

"Meet me at Johnson's café." He gave me directions and I showed up to meet him half an hour later. I stood in the door, just waiting and looking for a guy to match his voice. Unfortunately, the guy I had picked out wasn't the guy. Wasn't even close.

"Helia?" A young kid at the back of the shop waved to me. I made my way over and stared at the hunter in front of me.

This hunter was about sixteen with bad acne and a baby face. I appraised him. Obviously this kid hadn't been in this field of work for long as he was still way too cheerful. An amateur. And obviously an innocent.

"You're Ray?" I asked incredulously as I took a seat. He nodded a bit, still a little too enthusiastically for my liking.

"Yeah. And you are Helia Winchester right?" A waitress came over and handed me a menu.

"Yeah." I looked the menu over before I chose a cup of coffee, black and a side of bacon. The waitress came back over and took my order.

"I didn't expect to get someone this good." Ray said staring at me in adoration.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Well I've heard how good the Winchesters are. When I contacted Garth I expected him or one of his friends." Ray made my family out to be heroes.

"Ray, I'm not a hero. Neither are any of my family."

"No. You're a legend." I almost choked on my coffee.

"A legend?"

"Yeah. A legend."

"What can you tell me about this case?" I quickly changed the subject.

"Here." He slid me a folder. Absently eating a piece of bacon, I began to look through the contents. Obviously a murder, which resulted in the death of a young woman.

Her body had been ripped to shreds. Blood was everywhere with a symbol clearly drawn on the floor. A Z. I remembered Sam, Dean, and I had a case similar. I looked through the newspaper clippings as well as the rest of the file.

"Alright. Where's the body being kept?"

We made it to St. Bart's Hospital where I strode through the hallways coming into contact with a young female mortician.

"Ma'am you cannot be back here." She hurried after me.

"Actually I can Miss - "

"Hooper. Molly Hooper." I pushed through the morgue's doors.

"Agent deYoung, Miss Hooper." I twirled to face her, flashing my badge. "I'm sure you'll find that I'm very qualified to be here."

"Apologies." Miss Hooper appeared flustered. "What did you need?"

"I would like to exam and see the body of Miss Martin." I said turning and striding inside the room. I met the eyes of three men. One was tall, dark, and clearly arrogant. The other two were older looking in their late thirties or early forties.

"Who are you?" One of the older gentlemen asked as Molly motioned to the table. I took a pair of gloves and snapped them on.

"Agent deYoung." I repeated before I turned to focus on my task at hand. Looking at the body laid out on the table.

"Agent deYoung?" The man who spoke prior repeated raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Is that a problem?" I raised an eyebrow in response.

"Can I see your identification?" I rolled my eyes at this brainless request.

"If I get it out of my pocket I'll have contaminated my gloves." I shot back. "Ray." Ray came to my side and looked at me expectantly. "Get my ID out of my jacket pocket." He reached into my leather jacket and withdrew the badge to show to the demanding man.

I looked at the body. She was young, about twenty-four years old. This young girl had clearly been dismembered, and quite violently. Looking her over I stopped when I reached her chest. Very carefully, I put a finger in each side of the hole and peered in. Empty.

I stood back and pulled my gloves off. Turning away I walked a few paces, trying desperately to think. The lunar cycle wasn't right so clearly it wasn't a werewolf. I really hoped it wasn't what I thought it was.

"I'm Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade." The demanding man interrupted my train of thought. I turned and shook his hand. "So . . . . uh, what brings you to London?"

"This case." I gave him a smile. "My supervisor, Willis, informed me of the situation. We think this case could be connected to another string of serial murders that occurred in Chicago a few years back."

"Really?" Lestrade asked. "So you never caught the killer?"

"No." I tightened my jaw.

"Interesting agent." The tall, dark, and curly haired man stated. He had a deep voice.

"Well I'm a field agent." I gave him a tight-lipped smile. I was wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a cropped ACDC t-shirt, black heeled boots, my leather jacket, and of course my arsenal.

"Hello. I'm Dr. John Watson." The other shorter man introduced himself. "This is my colleague, Sherlock Holmes." I shook Dr. Watson's hand.

"Pleasure." My phone began to ring – Another Brick in the Wall. "Hello?" It was Sam.

"How's London?" I could hear the smile in his voice. I just scowled.

"Oh shut up." He laughed heartily. "Yeah so do you remember our Chicago case three years ago?"

"Of course I do. Why?" Sam sounded concerned.

"Because that's what I'm facing in London." I was being mindful of the others in the room. "Anyway you taking care of The Baby?"

"You know I am." Sam caught on. "Look I'll call Bobby. Get any information for you I can."

"Thanks. Text you later." I snapped the phone shut. "Anyway. Miss Hooper!" She scuttled to my side.

"Y-y-yes." She stuttered.

"I need the autopsy report as well as any information you may have for Miss Martin." I took off the gloves and threw them into a garbage can. "Same for you Detective Inspector. I'll stop by the New Scotland Yard later to pick up the file."

Detective Inspector Lestrade nodded at me. I held out my hand expectantly. He handed me back my badge. I tucked it into my pocket before leaving the morgue. Molly gave me a file. I nodded at her and left, Ray following in my wake.

We went to a pub where I ordered fries, or chips, and a bacon chicken ranch sandwich. When it came I pulled the bun off and began to eat. Ray sat there drinking his tea and eating his fish and chips.

"So Ray, want to tell me why you got into this lifestyle?" I asked the teenager.

"Uh, well, my Mum and Da both died when I was thirteen. I was sent to live with my uncle up in Ireland. He was a hunter. Started teaching me when I was sixteen." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"So you're a novice?" I asked, sitting back. He nodded.

"Yes'm. I'm nineteen. My uncle died last year." I had sympathy as Daddy died three years back and Dean just barely a month and a half ago. But I couldn't tolerate his idiocy.

"Ray why are you in this line of work?" I asked again, staring at him. It was clear he wasn't happy or content to do this work. He looked confused at my line of questioning until my next sentence. "This isn't obviously something you enjoy."

"Well my uncle wanted me to take it up." Ray admitted playing with his fingers.

"Well don't." I snapped at him. "Go to university or college or whatever it is they call it here. Go get a degree in something you want. This job scars you Ray. Don't do it." Ray was startled at my blunt honesty. "Trust me. Get out now." I gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and headed back to my motel.

"Hello?" I gave my brother some credit. He was good when it came to research.

"Yeah. I think it's a Daeava. As you said - "

"The same thing we faced in Chicago." I finished for Sam.

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "This is a dangerous gig."

"I'll be fine." I disagreed with him, as usual. Always being the stubborn one, even though I knew it was dangerous as well. I just didn't want Sammy to worry about me and do something stupid on his job. He sighed.

"At least you have what's-his-name with you." Silence was definitely deafening. "What happened Helia?"

"Well he's about twelve and inexperienced." I defended my actions. "I just gave him some advice. He's an innocent Sam."

"Oh God." Sam moaned. I looked at the time. 2:34 P.M.

"Oh, gotta go Sammy. Talk to you later kk?" I hung up on my adorable yet idiotic little brother. I went to Lestrade's office and looked through the file. Now all I have to do is try to find the one who could summon something as powerful and ancient as a Daeava. Finally I had to contact Lestrade who gave me a phone number to a guy about the request I had.

I called and made an appointment for tomorrow morning at 11. I fell into a sleep and woke up at about four-thirty after having a bad nightmare. I grabbed Dean's shorts, Sam's hoody, tennis shoes and my iPod and began my run of the day. I got back in at eight and took a shower.

I pulled on a pair of leather pants, my boots, a Metallica cropped tank and threw on Dean's brown leather jacket. Then I watched television for a couple of hours before I had to leave.

I made it to the building which was huge and built of white rock, it appeared. Waltzing in I walked up to the receptionist who told me to take a seat. I did so, tapping my fingers in an ACDC rhythm until I was called.

"Sir?" A large wooden door was pushed open by the lady who escorted me down the hall. I looked at the man in the nice three piece suit, blue tie, slim figure, and receding hair line. He didn't even look up.

"Thank you Anthea." The receptionist closed the door and left me standing there. "Please have a seat." He still didn't look up at me, which I found to be a little disconcerting. I took the plush leather seat he had indicated and kicked my leg restlessly.

"How may I help you?" He finally raised his head, exposing his severe features and icy eyes. This was a man I never would see myself having a relationship with; his life was ordered and stable, whilst mine was chaotic and could fall down around me at any point in time.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade sent me your way sir." I replied, being as respectful to him as I would have been with my father. "I need your assistance with some street cameras."

"Continue." This man leaned forward interested and clasped his hands. Four hours later and equipped with a couple of copies, I had found what I was looking for.

Locating the man in the cameras was easy. All I had to do now, was locate the altar and destroy it. Therefore ending the Daeava's hold over this man and hopefully preventing more needless murders for the foreseeable future.

I tailed the man to find out the location of the altar. A run-down warehouse just off the River Thames. I waited until he had vacated the building and then I broke in. Everything was as I expected. Zoroastrian symbols were everywhere.

I won't even begin to describe the disturbing features that were being used to bind and control the Daeava. I just knew I had to get out of there and quickly without drawing the Daeava's attention to me, which would prove fatal.

The man who was or rather through he was in control of the Daeava came back in. He took one look at me before sputtering with ill-concealed rage.

"Mr. Bronson, please calm down!" I begged him. He rushed at me, sending me flying backwards. I flew into the altar, effectively smashing it, but also ruining my clothes.

I groaned feeling a little disoriented when the two guys from the morgue – Dr. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes – came in. They did a double take seeing me on the floor, but trained their guns and sights on Seamus.

"Seamus, look I'm just trying to help you." I ground out, sitting up and concealing my pain, by gritting my teeth.

"How can you help me?" He cried looking at me.

"By stopping you while you're ahead!" I retorted standing up off the hard ground, but feeling the bruises begin to form.

"I'm fine!" He snapped. "In fact I'm more powerful than all of you!"

"You mean more stupid?" I raised an eyebrow at the imbecile in front of me.

"You don't know anything!" He yelled at me. I stepped closer to Seamus, making Sherlock and John be more vigilant.

"I know how dangerous this game is that you're playing." I said softly, keeping my hands spread out at my side.

"What do you mean?" He sounded confused. "It does my bidding!"

"And it's like a prehistoric pitbull!" I retorted. "It will bite that hand that feeds it, so to speak. Or rather any part of you that it can sink its teeth and claws into. These are dangerous, very dangerous, creatures to mess around with Seamus." I tried to look around, see if I could locate the demon, but it conceals itself cleverly in the shadows.

"It's mine!" Seamus roared at me. "It does what I want!"

"Seamus listen to me and don't be delusional. A Daeava isn't something a regular person, like you and I, can control." I tried to be calm about this whole situation.

"A Daeava?" Sherlock asked, slightly lowering his weapon.

"I'll explain later." I told him. "Seamus, listen to me – really hear me out. This creature is several millennia years old."

Seamus glared at me. Then he began to chant. I felt my stomach twist into an uneasy knot. I knew what he was doing. Summoning the Daeava.

"Seamus, these are highly volatile and ancient creatures!" I warned him. Because I knew that the creature would come for him. The altar was destroyed and Seamus was standing in the middle of the summoning circle he used.

"We need to leave! Now!" I pushed John and Sherlock backwards towards the door. We made it out just as Seamus began screaming. Looking back I saw the Daeava was devouring Seamus. I saw John and Sherlock look behind them as well before we all took off running.

Thankfully we weren't followed by the Daeava, so I went with the guys to Baker Street. There we all sat down, the men with tea and I with my coffee. I patiently waited for the questions to begin.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" John demanded, sipping his tea. I got up from the couch and perched on the edge of the table, so I might be nearer to them both.

"That was a Daeava." I told John. Sherlock narrowed his pale, blue eyes at me.

"I gathered that much!" John snapped. I paid him no mind, after all he had every right to be freaking out. He had just discovered and experienced a supernatural experience, with a world he thought didn't even exist.

"A Daeava is a demon of Darkness." I calmly said.

"A demon?" Sherlock was giving me an intense stare now. I nodded at him. "Demon's aren't real!" Sherlock shouted. I calmly waited out his tantrum.

"Obviously they are. You all saw what happened to Seamus." I stated, giving him my piercing gaze. I took to telling them about my past, my father, my brothers, and all the creatures we had successfully hunted in the past twenty-five years.

"That had to have been a trick of some sort." Sherlock shook his head after I had finished all of that. He took in my history without so much of a blink, but was still hung up over the Daeava. He would never cease to amaze me.

"Sherlock what do you think killed Seamus then?" I asked calmly, sipping on my coffee, which had long since grown cold. I grimaced at the taste, but didn't want to fall asleep tonight, so I continued to drink it, I needed the caffeine.

"I don't know!" He almost yelled. I recoiled a little; yelling had preceded an important aspect of my childhood, so I suppose it was conditioned behavior now. John gave me a sympathetic glance, which I ignored. I didn't want to be pitied.

"Sherlock!" John admonished. They shared a look, which I took to be their way of communicating. Faintly, I wondered if they were a couple. I didn't want to bring it up in case I managed to embarrass them or else they weren't a couple. I just say upright and set my empty cup down.

"Well I must get going." I said to them both, rising from my seat.

"Wait!" Sherlock called out in that deep voice of his. "I didn't mean to discredit you or make you feel uncomfortable."

Sherlock was the one whom was clearly uncomfortable. I just laughed and patted him on the arm. He really had no idea about human nature that much was obvious.

"Really Sherlock, I'm fine. I just had a long day so I'm going back to my motel." I answered him. He scoffed at my answer.

"You aren't returning there to sleep." He stated. John just gaped at his roommate, or rather flatmate. I don't know why, Sherlock had obviously done this to people before.

"Sherlock, don't go analyzing her!" John sounded scandalized. Though probably not because he was analyzing me, but more because he had just reprimanded him making me feel uncomfortable. I merely chuckled. What was that adage again? Can't teach an old dog new tricks? Yeah, I think that fit Sherlock Holmes, nicely.

"Why could you say that?" Of course Sherlock was correct, I just wanted to know how he had arrived at his deduction. If I was that easy to read, or if it was something little only he would notice.

"A person planning to sleep the night would not have just guzzled down their coffee in the manner in which you did." He looked at me with those icy eyes. "You even went so far as to drink your coffee cold, which is obviously disgusting, even if I hadn't noticed your facial expression as you drank it. You also have dark circles underneath your eyes which didn't appear from just one night of lack of sleep. Therefore you must be haunted by nightmares or memories of past hunts and of your past."

"Brilliant!" I remarked. "How did you know?" I was curious, I knew he was a good detective, but that was eerie and a little disconcerting.

"Because one can't see everything you do and not be affected in some way. Plus I can see a prescription bottle hanging out of your jacket pocket." Sherlock nodded towards my pocket. "Do I think they are for another condition? Maybe, but insomnia seems to be the likely and more probable answer." Sherlock seemed like he was proud of his deduction. I was just flabbergasted and sat down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Now you broke her!" John gently admonished his flatmate, while observing me. I waved him off.

"I'm fine, _doctor_," I stressed the doctor part. I wasn't just some case for Sherlock to solve, nor a random patient for John to fix. "Actually you were perfect with your assumptions. I wasn't planning on sleeping when I went back to my motel room. I cannot sleep. I haven't been able to sleep the night through for three years."

"Three years?" John asked confused.

"Since the day my father died John." I hissed at him, angry at the emotions that hit me full force whenever I thought of my father. "I can sleep with the help of an aid, usually in the form of a pill or alcohol."

"That's not very healthy." John frowned at my self-medicating methods.

"Neither is not sleeping!" I snapped back. Sherlock chuckled at our stubbornness, before he turned back to the window. We all heard the front door bang.

"Mycroft." Sherlock hummed, turning to look out the window. I watched him, bemused as he seemed most disinterested in this Mycroft person, yet again he seemed interested in a way. I would say maybe the anticipation of a case, but you never know with Sherlock. He was hard to read.

As I heard the footsteps ascending the stairs, I turned to look at John. He looked highly amused as he looked on from his seat on a wooden chair. I was curious as to see whom exactly this Mycroft character is. Finally the man himself walked into the room.

Looking up I saw the government official from before. Only now he was carrying an umbrella like a cane. His eyes locked on me and my breath caught, locked in his predatory stare. He smiled coldly at me, which made me shiver.

"Ah, Agent DeYoung, correct?" I nodded my heart sputtering frantically. "Nice to see you again."

"You've met?" Sherlock turned from the window to look at us both. Mycroft nodded.

"Yes, we did." My throat was still frozen, and I couldn't get any sound out of it. "Rose isn't it?" I nodded, feeling a lot like I was underneath a predator's perceiving eyes. "Funnily enough, I ran through the list of agents that are abroad, and there was no match for you."

"Maybe, they mixed me up with someone else. You know, us Americans, not as efficient." I gave a nervous forced chuckle.

"Yes, that thought crossed my mind as well. However, nor your name or your picture results in a match in the database. So Miss DeYoung would you like to explain to me or the New Scotland Yard your reasoning for impersonating a federal agent and illegally entering Great Britain? Not to mention as well as forgery, and illegally entering a crime scene without proper authorization." Mycroft hissed at me. My eyes were wide and I looked at Sherlock in a blind panic. For all my bravery and courage, I had no idea how to handle this situation.

Dean had always been the talker. He could manipulate his way out of a paper bag or convince government official they had sent him there, and therefore he had the right to be at that crime scene. God, did I miss Dean, my older brother, my protector. I lightly touched Dean's amulet before looking at Mycroft again.

"Here, why don't you call my superior officer, Agent Willis?" I tried to sweet talk him, but he wasn't budging. Finally Sherlock intervened.

"Mycroft, lay off." Sherlock finally stated, lounging on his leather chair.

"What? Brother mine, do you know her?" My eyes widened comically at this revelation. Mycroft and Sherlock were brothers?

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact." I stifled my laughter. Yes he knew of some of the important parts of my past, but he didn't know me. But I suppose having your eyes opened to the supernatural world, really forms bonds. I had to grin at John who as well appeared amused. Mycroft just further deepened his scowl.

"Sherlock and I are besties!" I burst out, causing Sherlock to send a similar scowl, like that of his brothers, in my direction.

"No we are not." I pouted and sat down again on the edge of their coffee table.

"What has you rattled, brother mine?" Mycroft took John's empty chair. I rolled my eyes and picked up a newspaper, which was lying beside me on the table.

On the third page I found an article that I was searching for. 'Man Commits Suicide: Three Gunshot Wounds to the Head.' Eager to return to hunting, especially now that I had solved a case, I pulled out my cell phone and made a phone call.

"Bobby? Hey it's me. I think I found another case. London Times. Man commits suicide. No, Bobby, I'm sure it's our sort of weird. Pull it up! Three gunshot wounds to the head?" I grinned at his reply. "No, but I'm going shopping. Yup! Need some equipment." With that I hung up on one of the few remaining family members I had left.

"Another case?" John raised an eyebrow at me, from his perch on the wooden chair. "Do you think that's wise?"

"Equipment?" Sherlock questioned raising an eyebrow.

"May I use your bathroom?" Sherlock waved me off, after looking at me for a few moments, and John gave me directions on where it was located in their flat. I grabbed my beat-up satchel and went into the bathroom. Luckily for me I always keep a set of bar clothes. As well as a make-up kit in that satchel and shoes.

I walked out into the living room once I was finished. Mycroft noticed me first – his eyes went wide and he visibly swallowed hard. John noticed Mycroft's expression and turned to look from where he had planted himself while I was gone – the couch. Finally Sherlock noticed the attention they were giving me and looked up as well. The usually stoic detective's eyes went wide as well.

I was wearing a pair of short white leather shorts. I paired it with a teal corset-like top and a pair of white stilettos. The shorts showed off my tan and the shirt revealed my stomach as well as my tattoos. I had put on a shimmery pink lip gloss, white eye shadow, mascara, and shimmer on my cheeks. My hair, I just fluffed quite quickly.

"Uh, you going out?" John asked. I rolled my eyes at this rather obvious information.

"Yes, I need to go out, get some money." I gave them all an unimpressed look.

"Oh?" John gave me a weird look. I couldn't figure out what his problem was, when I suddenly realized what he thought I was going to do for money.

"Oh God no, John!" I fairly screeched. "I don't sell my body for money!"

"That's a relief then." John leaned back into the couch.

"You do sell your body for money." Sherlock intoned blandly, causing John to stare at me. "Just not in the way John is thinking."

"What?" I was incredulous and trying not to stare at John, whose eyes were burning holes in my body.

"Yes, it is quite evident from the provocativeness of your outfit. It is basically screaming to earn the attention of the opposite sex." Sherlock looked and sounded bored. I could still feel Mycroft's eyes on me, which if I were being honest with myself, weren't exactly unwelcome. Mycroft was attractive, commandeered power, and acted like a gentlemen. The only reason I could not see anything progressing between us was his life was organized and mine was in chaos. The Government and the Hunter? Polar opposites, as well as different walks of life.

"What are you going to be doing?" John asked me, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"God!" I flung myself on the arm of the chair Mycroft was currently occupying. "I'm going to a bar, going to play some pool, drink, win some money, and then probably go back to my motel room ALONE!" I stressed the last word and my southern accent was becoming more prominent. John smiled, satisfied before he leant forward again.

"What are you going to be doing, in order to win some money?" He again, narrowed his eyes at me. I sighed annoyed at all this questioning. Even with as protective as Dean had been, John was being even more protective.

"John, I'm going to be fine." I stressed to him. "God you are going to be even more overbearing than Dean ever was."

"I'm just - "

"Concerned for my well-being. Yeah I know." I finished the sentence for the concerned soldier. "Again, trying to become an overprotective third sibling." I snapped, getting up from my perch beside Mycroft. I walked to the door, before I turned on my heel and looked at John. "Besides, my father was a marine, John. I know how to handle myself."

Then I left the apartment building and walked to the skeevy, rundown bar I had asked Sherlock about when John had excused himself. I played my part well enough and left with a little over a thousand pounds. I returned to my motel room, elated and slightly inebriated. Finally I was able to sleep – with minimal nightmares.

The next morning I was awoken by the message alert of my phone. I blindly grabbed it off the old, stained nightstand. A new message was displayed from phone number +44 7544680989. Frowning I opened the message and viewed it.

~Come to 221B Baker Street. With haste – SH.

I didn't even have to wonder how he had gotten my cell phone number. With his brother being Mycroft, a top government official, if not _the_ government, Sherlock obviously had information at his disposal. A dangerous thing I thought, as I rolled my eyes, found a semi-clean pair of tight jeans, a white ribbed tank, my black boots, and then to complete the outfit, slipped on Dean's brown leather jacket.

I quickly brushed my teeth, hair, and then took a moment to look at my face in the mirror. I wasn't vain, just wanted to see how bad I looked. What peered back at me was awful. I had dark circles that extended to the tops of my cheekbones. My face was paler than normal, making me look strange, especially since I had a dark tan. Popping a couple of aspirin for the hangover, I left the motel. I walked the ten blocks to Baker Street, all the while receiving texts to tell me to hurry up.

~Haste makes waste – SH.

~This is decidedly urgent – SH.

The list of texts continued to grow. In the half hour it took me to reach the apartment I must have received about fifty texts if not one hundred.

By the time I reached Baker Street I was shaking with rage. I slammed the outside door and ran up the stairs two at a time, meaning to give Sherlock a piece of my mind. When I reached his open apartment door, I was fully prepared to yell at him. But I shut my mouth when I saw Sherlock tied to one of his table chairs, in the middle of the sitting room, with a man standing beside him.

"Who are you?" I demanded as I walked inside his apartment. Sherlock's eye's flickered over to me as he assessed me. His eyes were cold as ice, not allowing his emotions to betray him.

"Ah, my lovely Winchester." The man standing there, addressed me. My body tensed at my real name, and my face became frozen beneath my own mask.

"Who are you?" I demanded again, my fury quite known to all in the room by my voice. I put my hand on the small of my back, only to come to the realization that I had not slipped my gun into the waistband of my jeans. My heart sank, by thankfully Sherlock's kitchen was equipped with salt, and I had my rosary wrapped around my wrist.

"Oh, someone forgot their weapon." The man smirked at me. I swallowed hard as he laughed. Sherlock briefly closed his eyes.

"Who are you?" I demanded again.

"Little Winchester doesn't remember me!" He smirked. I really wanted to knock that smug look off his face, so I clenched my jaw. "Let me let you remember."

"_Dean!" I yelled as the doorknob turned. Dean was thirteen, so he was coming home a little later than I did, with Sammy having to stay at school tonight. I thought maybe he was coming to check on me, as I was the only one left at this motel. Dad was off on a hunt, a few towns over so as not to risk our safety. I was excited to have Dean there as it meant I was no longer stuck by myself._

_However, I was in for a shock when the door opened. The large man, the same one who had Sherlock tied up, was standing in the doorway. I screamed and ran as the man followed me. He picked me up and walked over the salt line I must have broken when I came home. I received a hard blow to the head and promptly blacked out._

As my memory came back, I rubbed the faint scar left on my right arm, as the result of our encounter. The man grinned as he could see that I remembered him. Or at least, remembered what torture he had put me through.

"You." I gasped. He gave me a smile and nodded his head. "How did you find me? I thought my father had put you back where you belonged."

"My sweet little Helia Winchester." The man walked past Sherlock, confident he wasn't going to break his bonds, in order to stand in front of me. He lifted his left hand to rest on my cheek and began to stroke the smooth skin. "How could I forget so captivating a girl?"

"Don't touch me." I whispered to him. My voice betrayed me, carrying no real bite with it. It revealed the terror I was feeling at the moment. His grin grew wider.

"I think I'm affecting you." I just shook my head, trying to free myself from his hypnotic gaze. "Don't be like that. We can rule if you'll just join me."

"Leave her alone." Mycroft's voice said from behind us. I closed my eyes feeling hopeless in this situation.

"Who's this? A boyfriend Helia?" He dug his fingernails into my cheeks. I cried out as I felt the fingernails slice into my delicate skin. Blood was trickling down my cheeks.

"Let her be!" Mycroft demanded again. The man raised his blood streaked right hand and sent Mycroft careening into the wall. He hit hard, I could hear the solid thud, and had to hope that he was alive. Though it didn't sound like he would live. He grinned at me, as another tear fell down my face, leaving a trail through the blood.

"What say you to becoming mine?" He lifted his other hand from my right cheek and stroked his thumb over my abused left cheek.

"I say no." I told him, firmly my eyes burned with hatred for this man. He threw back his head and laughed for several moments. Mycroft groaned behind me, so he was thankfully still alive.

"That's the spirit I love. You would never bore me Helia Winchester." He stopped for a moment to contemplate me. "I'll ask you one more time. And then I'll break every one of your fingers before continuing on to the rest of your body. Will you be mine?"

"No. But I will say Cristo." I watched as his face morphed with anger, and his eyes turned black, exposing his true nature. A demon. He hissed at me before grabbing my small hands in his and proceeding to break both of my thumbs. I screamed. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus - " He broke my right pointer finger, extracting another scream. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis - "

"You really shouldn't play with fire, Helia." The demon in front of me smirked. "Dean's having a lot of fun in Hell. Maybe you could go visit him."

"Adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica - " With a feral grin he snapped my left wrist, causing me to let out a long, loud, ear-piercing scream.

"Just breaking your fingers was boring and monotonous." He admitted.

"Ergo Draco maledicte et section - " Finally the exorcism was having an effect on him. He was shaking and holding his head. "Ergo, Draco maledicte et lego secta diabolica, Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias servire - " I let out another scream as he dug his fingernails into my left wrist, the one he had just broken. I could feel the bones grinding together.

"As I said, don't mess with me Helia." He hissed.

"Libertate,, te rogamus," I stopped as he fell onto the floor and began to writhe in pain.

"You forget?" He growled. "I'm going to - "

"Audi nos." With a scream of black smoke, the demon was exorcised and the man's limp body hit the floor. I suspected the poor man was dead, but I couldn't be sure. My knees gave out as the pain coursing through my body, started to make it known. In a matter of minutes, Mycroft was up off the floor. He said something to me, which I couldn't hear, before Sherlock fell to his knees before me looking quite frantic.

I couldn't hear anything through the buzz in my ears. After what felt like years, DI Lestrade, Donovan, and several other police officers filed inside the little apartment. The paramedics followed shortly thereafter, rushing to my side.

I was taken to a nearby hospital via ambulance, never really comprehending the words they were saying to me. Once I reached the ER or the A & E as I later learned its called in Britain, I was given x-rays and my cheeks were attended. They had to splint three of my fingers and wrap my wrist in a cast.

Afterwards the medical personnel gave me the all clear to return to my home. Sherlock, who had waited in the hallway, escorted me out of the hospital. We stopped beside a black jaguar.

"Helia," Sherlock nudged me gently with his arm. I looked at him and could see his mouth moving, but couldn't focus on anything he was saying. I was still in a great deal of pain. He helped me into the backseat, probably deducing I wasn't all there mentally to comprehend what he was saying. Everything was a blur, though I do remember smelling a lovely, mint scent as my body floated through the air.

When I woke up, I was lying in an unfamiliar bed. One in which I could easily see wasn't the hotel bed, as it was too comfortable. The room was decorated in greens and creams. There were two huge windows and the sun was streaming through in a pleasant manner. Sitting up I noted something was wrong with my hands. Something wasn't right, something was weighing my hands down.

Looking down I saw the cast on my left wrist, the two broken fingers on my right hand and the other broken finger on my left hand. My pain was excruciating and my head was pounding. I could feel an uncomfortable throbbing in my cheeks.

I got up out of bed, and noticed a glass of water along with a pill bottle. Reading the label, I quickly found out they were for pain, so I fished two out of the bottle and swallowed with the water. Looking down, I was still dressed in my jeans and my tank, though my boots and jacket were missing. After having a glance around the room, I found them, my jacket on the chair and the boots sitting directly beside the chair on the floor. Shuffling along the room, I found a mirror overtop of the fireplace.

There were bandages on my cheeks, my eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and my tiredness was evident and clearly read on my face. Short memories of what had occurred the night before, I hoped, resurfaced in my mind, but I just shook it off. I realized that I needed to use a restroom, so I ran my eyes along the room to find a cream painted door with a crystal knob. I walked through this door, to find what I had been looking for, a bathroom.

After I had used the bathroom, I splashed cool water on my aching face, mainly on my forehead as I was trying to avoid getting my cheeks wet. I knew from experience that you did not get stitches wet. Then I gripped the white porcelain of the sink, and just stood there, all the while I let my knuckles turn white. I took a few deep breaths, and collected myself. After I had calmed myself, I exited the bathroom and forwent my boots, choosing to explore this house barefoot, exited the bedroom.

I looked around as I exited the bedroom, when I noticed that I was being kept in a nice house. The hall was well lit with natural light, as well as torches lining the wall for evening. I found many doors as I looked up and down the hallway. I shrugged, and started to walk down the hallway, towards the window where the plush red carpet dipped down to begin the stairs.

I started the middle aged woman who was coming up the stairs with an armful of towels. She gave a little shriek, her free left hand pressing towards her chest. I gave her a small smile.

"Oh dear!" She finally gasped out, in a pleasant voice. Giving her the once over, she was dressed in a typical white and black maids outfit. Her hair had been pulled back into a bun, she had on no make-up and her feet were covered in plain black oxfords. "You're awake!"

"Yes," I stated. She flushed a little underneath my gaze.

"He wants me to ring him as soon as you are awake." She walked over to two large double doors, made of wood and pushed them open. I followed her and peered inside to see a large king-sized bed covered with a black and blue duvet. There was an impressive oak desk, a bookcase, two nightstands, and two adjoining doors into this bedroom.

The maid reappeared from a door to the left, devoid of towels. Must be the bathroom, I thought before following her down the stairs. She led me to a room where I found a laptop sitting in front of the fireplace. Obviously this was the library as books lined the walls. I sank into a chair near the laptop, and I spied a note attached to the glossy black machine.

"I'll arrange for a tray to be brought to you. He will be home as soon as he is able." With that the maid left. I had to roll my eyes at her obscurity, and peeled the note off the computer.

~_Please feel free to utilize this computer. _

_Hopefully it can occupy your time until I am _

_Free to return home._

The maid came back in about half an hour later, depositing a tray beside. She assured me it was all gluten free. I picked at the plate, and sipped the soup absentmindedly. I was sucked into the world of online gaming by this point.

"What do you mean times up?" I yelled out angrily as the screen taunted me with the game over flashing across my game.

"You have managed to get a better score than the majority of others, my dear." My head snapped up to meet the amused face of none other than Mycroft Holmes.

"I should have guessed." I said with a frown, as I shut the lid with a snap. I then deposited the new computer on the table directly in front of me, beside the lunch tray.

"Miss Winchester." Mycroft sat in the chair beside my own, but as I was sprayed across the arms of the large, leather recliner, he was almost across from me.

"Please call me Helia, or Lia." I told him, still scowling at this man. He merely nodded, before he began to drum his fingers on his own legs.

"Alright then Helia. You are wanted in connection with a brutal assault and two murders in Saint Louis, Missouri." Mycroft raised his eyebrows at me. "Apparently you aided your two brother's."

"It wasn't Dean!" I vehemently protested these ridiculous claims against my dead brother. "It was a shape-shifter!"

"A shape-shifter?" He raised an eyebrow, obviously skeptical at these claims.

"Yes, you saw what happened in Sherlock's flat! That was a demon." I informed him, trying to protest my innocence. I knew he was practically the British government. He could have me extricated and sent to the FBI, if he so chose. "The supernatural is real! You have even seen it!"

"Alright!" Mycroft finally snapped at me. "I will have you cleared of all suspicions." I snapped my head back up to look at him.

"Really?" I asked him, shocked at this turn of events. I had no idea why he was being so nice to me. I mean I was practically a stranger, someone he couldn't even be sure that he trusted. I lied about my occupation in order to get into England, and he found out that I am wanted in connection with two murders.

"Yes. I cannot have a suspected accomplice to a murder, a criminal, resting and living underneath my roof." Mycroft said haughtily. I snorted at the logic behind his answer. Mycroft merely rolled his eyes at me before standing up as the clock struck seven.

"Come." He indicated to me. He even helped me to stand, as my hands weren't really a help anymore. "Dinner is done and waiting to be served." I took his hand, in order to get up from the seat with limited difficulty and followed Mycroft to a huge dining room.

There were two places set at the table, one at the head and the other to the right of the head. We sat down, Mycroft pulled my chair out for me, before taking his seat at the head of the table. Immediately after the both of us were seated, a man came out with the first course. We were served a soup first, then steak, potatoes, and asparagus. For dessert, we were subjected to brownies and ice cream. I declined the brownies, but I did accept the ice cream, and was brought a large array of toppings.

"Mycroft?" I uttered the first word of the meal that wasn't just polite dinner talk about the meal.

"Yes, Helia?" He turned his face towards me. He actually had a slight smile on his face.

"Am I staying here for several more days?" He nodded an affirmative. "I'm going to need my bag brought here then."

"I know. I took the liberty of having my driver take me to your hotel to retrieve them earlier." Mycroft frowned at the memory. "And you will not be returning to any of those low-rate hotels while you continue your stay in London."

"What?" I asked, shocked and outraged. How dare this man take the liberty of telling me what I was going to do and what I was not allowed to do. Even my father hadn't told me what I wasn't allowed to do, as I got older. Mycroft had another thing coming if he thought for one moment I was going to allow him to tell me what to do.

"I encountered all sorts of unsavory beings while obtaining your personal items." Mycroft gave me a tight-lipped smile, as if to indicate his annoyance at having to deal with people who were above him. I opened my mouth to give him a retort, but we were interrupted by his cell phone ringing. "I have already had Eva, the housekeeper, remove your belongings to your room. The house is for you to explore, save my study at the end of this hallway and my personal quarters." With that Mycroft hurried out of the room, already having accepted the call, and talking on the phone in a foreign language.

I ended up staying at Mycroft Holmes' house for longer than I had originally anticipated. My casts came off after six months, which ended up being August. I had anticipated more of a warmer summer, but the warmest it was had been in July with temperatures reaching approximately 70 degrees. Once I had my casts removed, and my hands were free again, I bullied Eva into fetching me a bottle of whiskey. I started to drink it as I watched the television, the 1993 rendition of the Three Musketeers.

"Helia!" Mycroft's cross voice sliced through the blissful blackness that I had surrendered myself to three hours prior. I had done well, nearly drinking the entire bottle, before I succumbed to the drunken, dreamless sleep, which I had been attempting to reach.

"My-ft!" I stumbled over his name, not completely sober yet.

"Oh god, how much have you had to drink?" He walked over to me, laying on his hardwood living room floor. The whiskey bottle was lying beside me, not enough in the bottle to spill onto the floor. I merely blinked up at him from my spot.

"I fink I've had tree bottlesh." I told him feeling very dizzy. My stomach was swirling, circling, lifting, quite violently as well. Mycroft must have noticed my expression for he helped me to the bathroom, where all the liquor and food in my stomach met it's end, in the toilet, quite violently I'm afraid.

Mycroft held my hair back as my heaving continued. Finally, finished with vomiting, Mycroft drew me onto his lap. I pressed my face into his suit coat and began to sob. I inhaled his minty scent, as my sobs shook my frame.

"Helia, it's alright now, poppet. It's alright." I fell back asleep, welcoming the oblivion.

My head was splitting. That was the conclusion I came to when I opened my green eyes. It appeared to be morning now, though a small lamp had been left on. I spied two white pills and a glass of water on the bed-side table. I took the pilled and gulped the cool water. It took about ten minutes before the thumping in my head, lessened slight, just becoming a duller cacophony. Getting up I slipped on a dressing gown I had stolen from Mycroft before going to the dining room in an effort to slip into the kitchen and gain some food.

"Ah, how are you?" Mycroft's voice boomed through the empty room, causing me to wince and he to hide a smirk behind his newspaper. There were multiple files abandoned in front of him on the table.

"Like someone is beating my brain to death." I remarked dryly. He gave a light chuckle as I sat down at the table.

"Oh, my dear, I highly doubt that." I rolled my eyes at his apparent mirth. I ate my breakfast, slowly, though I felt quite hungry. Mycroft stood up before I was done, snapping his newspaper closed, and quickly draining the last of his coffee. "I'll be home at six. My assistant will stop by at around two with an outfit for you to wear. Please ensure you are presentable by 6:30." Mycroft bent and pressed his lips to mine quickly. "See you tonight."

As he exited the room I raised a trembling hand to my tingling lips. What had just happened? Had Mycroft Holmes just kissed me? I couldn't believe it. The man who ran Britain himself, had asked me on a date, I think, and then given me a kiss as if we had been together for years. I raised an eyebrow in disbelief before a text startled me out of my musings.

~ And my dear, I believe tonight is what one refers to as a date. – MH.

I began to laugh at the absurdity of Mycroft's dating expertise. Obviously this would end up being an interesting relationship with Mycroft Holmes. Lord only knows, that I am not the type of girl who would stand for being ordered about and controlled. Even by the government. He ought to understand that about me, but I couldn't deny my feelings for Mycroft Holmes.

The hunter and the politician. The rule-breaker and the enforcer. The lamb and the lion. That is our stance in life, in a nutshell. Though I don't like to think of myself as a lamb, the saying fit with our relationship. One that is unlikely, though hopefully it will prosper.

I continued my laughter as I made my way to my bathroom for a long bath. I soaked in an amber and vanilla bath for longer than normal before I got out and tied a robe around my body. By the time two o'clock had come, my hair was semi-dry, no longer dripping at the ends, but not exactly purely dry either.

Mycroft's assistant was very pretty. She was glued to her phone though, every few seconds firing a text off. It couldn't be Mycroft, since he preferred to talk on the phone, only texting on certain occasions, or when he had a dentist's appointment as Sherlock informed me. She handed me a large garment box and several other smaller ones before she disappeared out the door.

Eva came to collect me for a late lunch, which consisted of soup and salad. The chef made a delicious potato soup, and a chicken salad, which didn't survive very long. I gave my compliments to Eva who made sure that she gave to the chef.

Then I went to my room and began to look through the boxes. The large garment bag held a stunning silver dress, with a sheer panel for the stomach. The other three smaller bags, held a pair of silver heels, and then a diamond necklace, earrings, and a matching bracelet. I worked on drying my hair, and then curling it.

I even put on a spray which Eva assured me would bring out the red and gold highlights in my hair. Then I put on my make-up, smoothing my complexion with a mousse foundation, and added some shimmery luminescent. I put on my silver eye shadow, and added a glitter overcoat, in order to make my eyes pop more. Then I added some mascara and a little light eyeliner.

For the final touch, I added a silver pink lip gloss which matched my entire ensemble for the night. Adding some of my little hairclips, Mycroft had so generously provided, I put my hair back in a little woven net of hair.

Then glancing at the clock which displayed 5:58, I began to get ready. I slid on the silver dress which looked like fluid swirling around my body, after I had it completely fastened. Adding the heels, added to my height, which didn't make me look so short, when compared to Mycroft who stood at 6 foot 1 inch. I was only 5 foot 3 inches, so he was nearly a full foot taller than me. I clasped the necklace, slid the earrings into my ears, and then fastened the bracelet and was ready to depart.

As I was walking out the door, I turned and hurried back to my desk, where my perfume was waiting patiently. I gently spritzed some on before walking out of my room, flipping off the light, and making my descent down the stairs like some kind of movie star. All I know is that Britain better look out – for if the two of were able to concrete our relationship, we would be a force to be reckoned with. I met Mycroft at the bottom of the stairs and threaded my arm through his. We were going to be a power couple.


End file.
